


Tell Me Love

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Background Relationships, Bittersweet Ending, Don’t get attached, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, God tiers, Intimacy, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You think I’m a Seer?” he says.“It’d be weird if you weren’t one. This,” Dirk nods towards the man’s robes, worn as elegantly as Rose wore her own outfit, “is a dead giveaway. And then there’s the way you look at me—”“How do I look at you?” Amusement drips from the man’s lips, twitching as he takes that final step, standing just a few inches away from Dirk
Relationships: Dirk Strider/Kankri Vantas
Kudos: 11





	Tell Me Love

**Author's Note:**

> This AU came to me from listening to “Her Sweet Kiss” from the Witcher and I worked for 3 days on it with Neec (my beta reader)!
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy my interpretation of God Tiers and Classpects and what happened post game :D

_I don’t want you in bits and pieces,_

_I want you all,_

_Good and bad,_

_Every last atom_

_-Atticus_

  
  


Ringed fingers find themselves enclosed around calloused hands, trailing over the small cuts from fights in the darkness, gently holding them as they shake, a subtle movement of panic and insecurity. Tired eyes look at him through a mask of calmness, reflecting the anxiety and sadness that flows through the man’s thoughts, the way his eyes flick from Eridan’s face down to the hands in such quick motion makes the Prince ponder if he even saw them move at all. His hands tremble under Eridan’s touch, and his body is forced to stay as still as possible as he examines and touches and holds him from a safe distance. Their Hearts are on display for the world to see, their swords are shining with thick red liquid, and the sky is clear and quiet. 

Eridan watches as Dirk’s walls crumble and crash, turn to rubble with a simple question —“What is it?” — and it feels as though they were kids again; kids who conquered all of Alternia and their beautiful regions, the valleys and mountains and rivers and lakes, while ignoring their royal lifes; kids who swore that if one jumped off a cliff, the other would follow suit. It feels as though Eridan is watching his old time friend be genuine and true with him once more, as Dirk’s expression shifts, eyes squeezing shut and reopening with tears leaking from the corners, his lip trembling as he tries to say—

“I love him,” he chokes. 

Dirk Strider, Prince of Heart, He who Destroys emotions and soul, He who shatters himself through and through again with endless wars and battles with the splinters he’s created - cries under Eridan’s touch as the words pour off his lips: _I love him, I love him, I adore him._

Eridan can only watch as Dirk crumbles, hands pulling away from his own and finding solace pressed against Dirk’s eyes. He can only watch as the tears multiply, two more replacing the single one Dirk wipes away, unsure how to deal with the cascade that pours out of his eyes.

He closes and opens his hands then quietly guides him towards his arms, blinking away the surprise he feels as Dirk follows him willingly and lets Eridan hold him. Their swords are abandoned on the grass and the wind tangles their hair, and the Prince of Hope can only hush him as he cries his emotions into Eridan’s arms.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He never saw it coming.

The temple is his sanctuary. His place of tranquility from the kingdom’s constant demands, the holidays and festivities that English and Harley demand each and every Holy Month, the safe haven that Roxy’s very own curious magicks can’t get to. The only place where Time will leave him be, where Light will ask no questions, for they know he needs the silence, the quiet, the space to breathe and let go of the slowly increasing emotions that shake his core and leave him restless at nights. 

The forest is thick and flourishing with Life and yet there is silence. The birds that coo and chirp and follow his every step quiet when they see him clutching the hilt of his sword tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white under the gloves. Dirk steps over long tree roots and jumps on the stones of the rushing river and ignores the cool breeze of the spring afternoon as he ventures to his hellscape.

And it doesn’t take long. The map of the forest is engraved in his memory, the path comes to him as easy as it is for him to breathe. He considers it a blessing as he stands at the bottom of the old, old temple’s stairs. 

Whoever had built the Signless Temple did not account for the abundance of plants that would grow around it. The vines wrap around the stone and the flowers blooming from the buds clash against the vibrant reds that have been painted on the sides. He’s always found it so amusing that this historical figure of his world’s most important leaders was covered in daisies and dandelions and that squirrels and birds alike would always find a way to make their homes in the small cracks and spaces within the stone. Storing their fruits and seeds for safekeeping. He supposes it fits, considering how the Blood Lord was meant to build a safer place for those in Alternia—

The air around him seems to move, something charged and dangerous. The hand resting at the hilt of his sword tenses. But there is no sound, there is no sudden movement, there is no “I am here” announcement of any kind as Dirk’s eyes scan the surrounding area (left, right, left right).

Then, he looks up and catches sight of red on red on dark, dark blood-colored clothes. A man wearing red on his body proudly. 

Dirk can only blink as the figure stands at the top of the stairs, head tilted back as it seems to stare up at the dragon sculpture resting on top of the entrance, the breeze picking up and swaying his hood and hair (locks as dark as the thick velvet color of wine Roxy seems to adore so much as of late). If he notices Dirk he makes no sign of recognition, simply stands and stares up at the temple’s entrance without saying a word, letting the wind yank at his hood and twirl his hair into spirals of auburn and Dirk hesitates in drawing his sword.

( _Never_ _hesitate_ , his Brother tells him, _Never hesitate and never back down_ ). 

Then he takes a tentative step towards the stairs, heel clicking against the stone and that seems to be it. It’s not loud, barely a whisper, but the man shifts his stance (Dirk can’t find any weapon on him, no sign of iron or steel) and gazes down at the Prince. There is no sign of malice in the stranger’s face and — maybe it was from the distance of where they stood - but Dirk could not see his eyes clearly, they seemed… vacant. 

“Who are you?” he says, voice dipped and forged as if every word was meant for a poem. Dirk blinks up at him, keeping his hand at the hilt of his sword. The man takes a step down the stairs, and Dirk stands still. “Who are you?” the man repeats, taking a step per word gracefully. As he edges closer Dirk’s eyes scan the man’s form - there is no blade anywhere under the hood, the robes resembling that of Light’s own bright orange garments except dyed a dark blood color, the same one he’s seen staining the returning army’s armor. And, just faintly, Dirk can catch sight of the symbols in red under the man’s robes, wrapped tightly around his chest and waist. 

“None of your concern, Seer,” Dirk replies once the man stands one step from the ground. 

The man pauses at that. 

“You think I’m a Seer?” he says.

“It’d be weird if you weren’t one. This,” Dirk nods towards the man’s robes, worn as elegantly as Rose wore her own outfit, “is a dead giveaway. And then there’s the way you look at me—”

“How do I look at you?” Amusement drips from the man’s lips, twitching as he takes that final step, standing just a few inches away from Dirk.

“Judging — _Analyzing_. You’re trying to think of what I’m going to do next. You’re the general of invisible army of whatever the fuck is out here in this forest and you think you’ve caught me off guard but you haven’t.” 

( _I had you_ , Terezi would say. Her eyes are narrowed and her rapier is inches away from her hand but Dirk keeps her pinned, his own sword pointed at her neck, his breathing steady. 

_No, you didn’t_ , he’d say. She’d laugh, a full on crackle of her voice all powerful and loud, and then take his hand and pull him down. Send him flying to the floor, leaving him gasping for air to fill his lungs.

 _Told you,_ she’d say).

The man laughs at that, startling Dirk away from his thoughts. He can see him smile, shoulders rising and falling in quick motion, hand waving apologetically as the Seer clears his throat, a small smile on his face. He doesn’t seem sorry.

“Why so anxious, Prince?” he said. Then, before Dirk could step in, “You’re wearing royal regalia. It’d be weird if you weren’t one.” Despite himself, Dirk feels his lips twitch upwards. 

He bites the inside of his cheek and crosses his arms, standing upright to look at the man in the eyes. “Alright. You seem smart—”

“ _No,_ no, it was just rather obvious.”

“Guess my aspect then.” His Heartbeat stammers, and it becomes awkward to stand still in front of the Seer, arms crossed and so _demanding_. English and Harley were easy to ask for favors — “Explain to me how Hope works” — and they’d do it no problem. Why he thought this stranger would do the same was beyond him and his calm demeanor threatens to slip, fingers anxiously wanting to hold on to the handle of his sword. Desperate.

Humming, the man steps closer then circles the Prince, eyeing him up and down from every angle until Dirk is sure there’s no stitch and lining from his garments that the Seer has not seen. He stops and tilts his head.

( _You look like a cat,_ he heard June say. Karkat’s face reddened, lips curling back into a snarl as June runs her fingers through his tangled hair.

 _It’s true! You tilt your head like a cat_ , she coos, laughing quietly as the Knight glares at her, the heat behind the look long gone by now.

Dirk didn’t understand her then).

“ _Heart_ ,” Seer says, curling each syllable of the word gently, akin to that of a _purr_ that leaves the word utterly foreign to Dirk’s ears. He watches as the red-cat Seer points to his neck, smiling. “You tattooed it on your neck.”

There are Denizens slumbering under the mountains and hills of Alternia and Dirk doesn’t fear them; the constant war he has going on with his self doesn’t deter him; Jade and Aradia’s new found interests in collecting carcasses and decayed animals and plants has done nothing to shake the Prince’s core the same way it did Dave’s. There is — _was_ nothing that could catch him so off-guard that he’s left exposed and open for the world to see… and yet he sputters. He blows out his lips in a childish manner in an attempt to calm himself down but the heat that rises from his chest creeps up neck, and his heart drums in a rapid beat.

He tries to step back and nearly trips over one of the tree’s massive roots (when did they get there?) and the sun is noncompliant, shining down on him brighter and brighter, the ceiling of plush green leaves doing _nothing_ to conceal his joker dance of shame. The Seer does nothing to help, simply watches with amusement as Dirk collects his bearings, struggling to find balance on the vine root infested floor.

“Careful,” Dirk can hear the smile on his face and his own seems to burn at the thought.

“I _am_ careful—”

“Oh, watch out for the—!”

Dirk’s backwards dance comes to a close as the Prince falls, feet useless and defenseless against the barricade of roots behind him, reaching up to his waist and making him tumble over the other side. His head collides with the hard, grass-less floor, legs sticking up over the edge and he could only groan in response.

He counts the seconds—

_Three._

_Two._

_One_ —

Dirk closes his eyes and when he opens them, he’s met with a pair of white, the faintest hint of red in the middle of them, accompanied with a sea of red curls and a small smile on the stranger’s face. 

“Hey,” Dirk says, blinking owlishly up at the Seer.

He looks taken aback for a moment — eyes widening then softening just as quickly, head tilting to the side as he murmurs, “Hello.”

  
  


* * *

He arrives home and Roxy wastes no time to comment on his hair, pulling out the leaves and branches and tiniest pieces of grass from the curls and grinning as she comments on each and every piece—

But Dirk doesn’t hear her. He can’t. He’s too busy thinking of red on red upon red, the faintest scars on delicate skin, the way a voice could rival the sound of the ocean’s own soft sounds—

“Are you ok?” Dirk slams the door shut to his train of thought and looks down at the Rogue, blinking. Her brows furrowed and she places her hands on her cheeks, squishing them gently and— oh.

Dirk’s hand trembles as he reaches up to touch his skin, surprising him as he feels his fingers _burn_.  
  


* * *

He holds Rose’s hair under his grasp, gentle and cautious. Strands fall like petals between his fingers and he twists and ducks them under each other, spiraling them into small shapes. Her voice carries as she speaks. The moon is this and the Sun is that, the stars are twinkling and the clouds are fluffy, Void laughs with Rage and Hope dances with Doom. They sit, together, under the shade of some old tree, watching from a distance as Heirs and Witches thwart each other with playful laughs. 

But he doesn’t see them. Not really.

The residence is huge, built of brick and marble, meant to house the royal family and then some. After the war, after the Lord had fallen and the kingdom was freed, Heart and Hope welcomed everyone within the walls with warm smiles. It covers a good portion of the land, blocking the view of the lake from this angle, the black and white village… and yet, Dirk finds himself looking past it, towards the forest. 

To the temple.

To red and red and red.

To soft curls of auburn.

To the sound of waves lapping at his feet, pulling him closer and closer towards the sea. 

But Rose interrupts those thoughts, her hands placed on top of his. It reminds him of a mother, or what one is supposed to be anyway, caring and gentle but strict and strong. He stares down at her, watches as the Light catches her hair and how the wind tugs it playfully, her eyes finding him, soft and then pitiful. 

“You’re loud,” she says, shifting so she can reach up and yank a stray strand of hair from his face. And then, “Your thoughts. That is.”

Dirk leans back against the trunk of the tree, far away from any wandering hands that would make prey of his hair again, and watches the leaves dance above them. They rustle and get pulled along by the breeze, gently snapping away from the stems and falling in a quivering dance to the floor. At the ground, there are plenty that are turning orange, the barest hint of red on them. He finds himself staring up, trying to ignore the sunlight intensely. “I thought you couldn’t read minds.”

“Did I say that?”

“To Dave? Yes, multiple times.” 

“I can’t read minds.” Rose shifts and seats herself comfortably, right by his side, and tilts her head back, feeling the shape and form of the braid Dirk had made for her. It was a crown. “I’m only observing what’s in front of me.”

“Beside you, you mean.” Rose smiles at that, smacking the side of Dirk’s arm softly in warning. “Do you know what it is?”

“What you’re thinking about?”

“Yes.”

“Not fully.” She fiddles with the loose strand of hair, following Dirk’s gaze towards the stone walls and then, Dirk thinks, beyond it. Or, at least, she tries. Her voice is melancholic, enlaced with amber and honey, slow as if trying to find the right words for it, “I can see many things. In the future. But there are so many variables, so many paths laid out in front of me - In front of _you,_ that I can’t really tell which path you’re walking towards right now.”

Dirk thinks of streams and rivers and then, finally, a lake that connects to another stream, another river, never ending. He tucks the stray strand of hair behind Rose’s ear. “Can you, by any chance, make an estimated guess?”

“A hypothesis?”

“Whatever you want to call it.” 

Seers, they analyze and make battle movements based on the facts, the truths, and Rose is no different. He’s witnessed Terezi’s own handiwork, her blade clashing against sapphire dices, moving through the battlefield with skillful planning, red eyes filled with determination as her plan falls through easily. One step, then another, and the enemy falls. But Rose works differently, as he assumes a red one would, her eyes are shaped like sun rays, gazing up at him silently. And he knows that she’s checking his breathing, his subtle body movements, the way his eyes stare back at her and soften at the sight. Every move, every small inhale of fresh air, leads to a different path. Or so he guesses.

She closes her eyes. Her head leans back against the tree and she says, “Don’t get attached.” 

Dirk follows her lead, head leaning back and he stares up at the Sun’s light, feeling the tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“You,” he can hear the smile of pity spreading across her face, “are going to have to make a decision in the future due to the state of the current situation. Things are bad right now, for all of us, and you’ll find the solution. But you won’t be able to do it. Because you got attached to something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Oh,” he says and Rose goes quiet. He’s unsure if she’s asleep or simply taking in the stillness of it all, even as Hope and Doom crash into each other, even as Time and Breath hold hands and take on the impossible in front of them. 

He closes his eyes and his heart aches for a chance to see red again.

  
  


* * *

They meet again, this time at dusk. 

Dirk carries himself to the middle of the forest, Heart heavy and made of stone, cuts bleeding from his cheek and hands and arms as he tries to muffle out the laughter of a Thief, Thief, Thief her fanged smile engraved in his mind. And his feet, bare and aching, slow to a stop as he edges closer and closer to the middle of it all.

He sees red and his heart paces steadily. 

The Seer is sitting on one of the thicker branches of the sycamore (or was it oak?), one leg crossed comfortably over the other, the regal robes discarded and instead replaced with something more casual, less strict. There’s red and red and red, it screams out danger and Dirk walks cautiously towards it, watching as the light of the moon and stars brighten his silhouette, allowing for Dirk to take in his presence. 

He steps closer and closer and-

“Welcome back,” the Seer says. He inclines his head towards Dirk in greeting and Dirk returns it with a small wave, unsure how to respond. The Seer places a hand in the space next to his and Dirk watches, raising a brow in question. Then, there’s a pat on the space. The Prince stares up at him in confusion, feeling lost and then—

“Come here.” Beckoning.

Dirk lets out a noise of sorts, he doesn’t know what it is - something akin to a muffled laugh, maybe - and he finds himself climbing up the tree until he’s seated next to the Seer, the eyes of the moon on his back. There’s a sense of anxiety as he lets his feet dangle from the edge and his hands grip the bark tightly until he’s sure the skin has turned pale from the strength, but he doesn’t dwell on it. 

“You haven’t come to the temple,” Red says. 

“I’ve been busy,” he says and adds nothing more.

Red hums and Dirk turns to look at him, blinking when he finds the man staring back at him. A hand comes up and touches Dirk’s cheek, hesitant and wary, it doesn’t tremble or stirr as he wipes a drop of blood away leaving a burning sensation to Dirk’s skin. The Seer stares at it as if it has wronged him in a past life, or maybe now, before meeting Dirk’s eyes again.

“You never told me your name,” he says, quiet.

“You never asked.” Stubbornness. Or maybe it was nervousness. He doesn’t really know anymore. 

The Seer chuckles, a smile reappearing on his face as he leans back, just enough for the moon to caress his hair again, showing in the light the locks of red that Dirk has been dreaming about. Dreams that come and go just as quickly, but this one seems to want to stretch itself for as long as it can.

“Kankri,” the man says. 

There’s a connection there, something familiar, but his Heart doesn’t care to think about it. It takes it and holds it tightly, never wanting to let go. 

“Dirk,” he whispers. 

Kankri tilts his head towards him, lets the red sea of Exodus fall from his face, relaxed and free and something, _something_ that Dirk cannot describe, words failing to fall from his mouth for once in his miserable life. He smiles and Dirk feels as though he’s going to break apart from whatever is causing his heart to stutter, jump and freeze all at once-

“Come by more often.”

“Is that an order?”

A small laugh; it sounds like ambrosia and honey and sugar to his ears. 

“An invitation, my Prince,” he says and Dirk gladly takes it.

  
  


* * *

He’s never understood those small forms of attachments, the way one holds on to something dear and promises to never let go and they simply _don’t_ , opening the lock to their Hearts and placing inside the memory or feeling or _anything_ and keeping it there for all eternity. Eridan comes to him, time and time again, with a grin on his face, holding his hands as he explains how he’s smitten. 

“I love him.” He stands in front of the mirror, fixing his hair and looking down at the arrangement of gold and white and Hope, fitting his lithe form perfectly. And then, the added colors of Doom at the vest, under the tailcoat, it’s a lovely addition and it works in a way that Dirk doesn’t understand. 

“Do you?”  
  
“I do.”   
  
“How? How do you know?”   
  
“Dumb Prince,” Hope says, fixing Dirk’s dress shirt and brushing the hair out of his face. “It’s a feeling. It’s a feeling of wanting to be _with_ them, forever. And every time you see them your heart drums, a lovely beat, and you can’t help but smile when they laugh.”

Eridan lets go of him, takes in the view of him dressed in dark shades of pink, gold stitches here and there, his sword sheathed perfectly at the hip. He looks at the single red rose that’s been pinned above Dirk’s heart and raises a brow to the Prince.

“And you?”

“And me?” he asks coolly. 

“Are you smitten?”

Dirk’s mind immediately goes to the red sea, thinks of moonlight and then the sweet sound of his name being repeated over and over and over on a new tongue until it’s foreign to his ears and he shakes his head.   
  
“No,” he lies, taking Eridan’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. “Not me. Not ever.”

  
  


* * *

_I was already complete when I met him,_

_He just filled my life with so much color_

_To go on without him seemed absurd_

_-B. Diaz_

  
  
  


Sometimes their paths would cross, intertwining in a road filled with sorrows and casualties neither of them were ready to speak of yet. Sometimes Kankri would end up under a roof and bed, watching the tapestries intently as Dirk readied a bath for him, and he’d just as quietly disappear in the morning. Sometimes he would be walking along the fields and then he’d blink, and find himself laying on the grass, listening to Heart speak of Mind and then Light and Void like family. It is — it is a change. Kankri finds himself, for once in his subsiding life, at a loss for words as Dirk spills his thoughts out; he has never met such an eager, anxious soul, with so many thoughts and splinters and bruises that he did not know where to put them. He was a mess that Kankri could not walk away from.

The Seer laughs at first, unsure of how to react, and Dirk falters at it. There, he sees him close up his walls around his thoughts and emotions, pushing himself up from the ground and saying he needs to go back—

_Back where?_

_Anywhere but here._

And as they separate Kankri holds on to a breath until he suffocates. Holds it, holds it, holds it as Dirk runs away from him.

Sometimes it would take days to find his Heart again, turning every stone for clues, tracing worn footprints on the ground, asking questions to the unknown in hopes that it would answer right back. Sometimes he felt as though he would need to _talk_ to Hope — one or the other — to guide him towards the right path, as outrageous as it felt that he could not see clearly after all this time.

But fate is inescapable — he knows — for when Summer comes, enveloping the world in warmth and cool breezes and _Life_ , he finds his missing half, sitting at the bottom of the steps to his predecessor's temple, hands pressed tightly against his forehead, not seeming to notice the world around him.

Kankri stands in front of him, direct and upfront. And Dirk merely looks at him, dark circles under his eyes, and Kankri takes his hands and holds them firmly.

And Kankri breathes, breathes, breathes as he kneels before him.

_I’m sorry._

But he isn’t sure if Dirk hears him at all.

  
  


* * *

  
“Do you have no one else?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh - I thought you.. Trolls had ancestors or something.”

“Or something, yes. But I do not know mine nor does he need to know me.”

“But-”

“It’s always been like this.”

A pause and then,

“Shit. Fuck it, I’ll keep you company.”

Kankri doesn’t think much of it, an innocent promise. And then, every third day he sees Dirk waiting for him at the temple, basket of food at the ready.  
  


* * *

It’s Dirk, this time, who catches him off guard.

There is not much to do, while waiting for fate to take its course of action and lay down the next steps of your life, and Kankri did not dare take another step closer to the castle on the hill, to the villages or small towns, for he’d rather lay in his own pool of Blood than meet another of his own. And that, he does. 

Sleep is a virtue and a gift, maybe even a privilege to those who can close their eyes and immediately stay there until they’re well rested and revived once again, and Kankri struggles to remain still long enough for his body to relax. Let go. Sleep.

And it takes every last bit of energy inside of him to _stay_ relaxed at the faint sound of leaves crunching under heels. The possibility of it being someone else, a stranger, is high and he knows better than to let his guard down-

“You sleep?” comes his Prince’s voice, raspy and quiet and _close_. “I thought you were a cryptid or something.”

“Cryptids sleep,” Kankri mumbles. His voice is soft and delicate and he feels alive again. “Let me sleep.”

“No,” Dirk says. He’s kneeling at Kankri’s side, wearing black on black, a single outline of his Heart on the center of it. Kankri stares at him. His hand trembles, screaming out in need to run through the locks of hair the Prince wore proudly, the smallest part of himself wondering if it was tangled and a mess like its host, or if, by a miracle, it was just as soft and gentle as the human’s soul seems to be. It reminds him of sunsets, that same yellow-ish color, though he wonders what it’d look like if it followed the path of Heart and was dyed pink instead. Dirk is a sunset, he muses, the same kind you’d find in oceans; raging and bursting colors of elegance and beauty that leave Kankri speechless so much he doesn’t know what to do other than hum and let it happen. 

Dirk sits down beside him on the temple stairs. “Well,” he mutters under his breath. Kankri wants to taste it. “Was it a good dream at least?”

“I don’t typically dream.”

“And when you do?”

He thinks of a calm red sea, the sound of ripples cutting through the air as he walks over it, groans and wails of the deceased underneath him, hands coming up to cover him in blood and guilt and - he thinks of valleys. Valleys that stretch out to the horizon, when the sun is still in the sky, shining down on them graciously. He thinks of amber eyes, so beautiful and deep they’re nearly golden, looking at Kankri the same way he looks at—

“I never want to wake up,” he says and it’s true.

  
  


* * *

"I want to leave."

"You're filled with wanderlust, Prince. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. A field, maybe. A field full of those stupid flowers you like so much—"

"Camellias?"

"Sure. Just a fuckton of them everywhere and we live on the coast, and there's a beach so we can go in for a swim some time."

Kankri opens his eyes and looks over at Dirk curiously, watching as the sun catches his hair, mixing in beautifully with the lime of the grass surrounding them. Blood lifts a hand and caresses Heart’s cheek, watching as his eyes open, slow and unsure. A dust of pink covers his cheeks and Kankri can’t help but smile. The man was always wearing the color and never once did it seem out of place for him.

“What?” Dirk’s voice comes close to a crack and the Seer’s hand nearly trembles as he traces the faint outlines of scars on the Prince’s face. 

“You have freckles.”

_Like stars on a tranquil sky, precious and beautiful._

And then, “We can go to the coast someday. It’s not that far.”

A tentative hand wraps around his own and soft lips are pressed against the palm, hesitant and unsure, and Kankri feels his heart shatter right there and then.   
  


* * *

They’re clashing. 

Teeth bared and shackles raised, the waters crashing into the rocks below them, the sound of thunder splitting the sky apart numbing the ringing in the Seer’s head. Their words are made of freshly forged swords, hot and burning and they dig deep into each other’s chests, repetitive and brash.

“I hate you!” Dirk screams, when he cannot find the words to say, _I adore you._

“Then leave!” Kankri shouts, when his heart hurts too much to say, _Stay with me._

And the ocean is restless and the skies are grey for weeks, rain pouring down and flooding the lands. The Heart is broken and the Blood is pooling, longing for the same smiles and burning touches, but neither of them find the strength to say it.

_I miss you._

_I miss you, too._

The storms last a week. 

When the skies clear, Kankri plucks at the strings of wood in his hands, the words spilling out of his mouth in a distant melody. He plucks and rasps and rakes the strings until he sees red at the fingertips, red in his palm. 

  
  


* * *

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m a fucking awful person, you know,” he says and tilts his head back, exposing the scar that circles the entirety of his neck. “I’m a pain to be around. I’m sure the others feel the same way - Eridan definitely, with the way I’ve been avoiding him.”

“I like having you around.” A truth. 

“Stockholm Syndrome finally getting to ya, huh?” He chuckles nervously. 

Kankri stares at him, fingers stilling over the lute and then, without warning, lifts his leg and kicks Dirk on the side. He watches with amusement as the Prince flails his arms, legs kicking up and down helplessly, and he snatches him by the collar of his shirt before he has the chance to fall backwards.

“Asshole,” Heart hisses and Blood smiles in return.

  
  


* * *

“Explain to me what happened.” There is some sort of comfort to this: sitting down, his clothes getting dirtied up with sand up to his waist, the salty air messing up his bloody hair and getting in his eyes if he isn’t careful enough, a shiver crawling up his spine whenever the tide decides to hug his legs. The sand surrounding him is drenched, black and moist from the blood pooling around him. A head lays on his lap, the body shifting and turning, mumbling a weak response, he blinks at him, his lips twitching slightly upwards. There is comfort to this.

There are no other sentients here, no Light or Hope or Breath, just the two of them. He’d taken a short walk along the shore, trying to clear his mind, the summer breeze deciding to be merciful and cool him down, all whilst yanking his hood down with a gentle shove. It’d been boring, for the most part, watching the tide rush up and down and ruin the hem of his clothes without remorse, but it was also _peaceful_. Peaceful and annoying, all at once. The water mocked him, endlessly, and he had stared back at it. It grabbed at his legs and soaked his clothes, letting them stick to his skin - mocking him. 

He wondered if it would be the same, once his Sermon was finished. Once the final words of red and gray and lime ended.

He hated the water. 

He’d dragged himself to the far out, the forest barely visible from where he stood, and the farther away he moved, the more he ached to return to it. The more he thought of sunflowers, stretching out towards the sun, clothed and dressed in an outrageous shade of pink, standing out from the other flowers. The more he wished to trace faint scars with his claw, find the origin and tragic tale of each and every single one of them, say, “I love this one,” and watch with newfound glee as red becomes his new favorite color, painted perfectly on a freckled face. 

And it was then, on the third thought, that Dirk came around, the soft sound of the water crashing against the shore drawing Kankri’s attention. He’d watched the Prince pace for a solid minute, too invested in his own words and rambles and strides that he didn’t notice Kankri stepping closer to him, the soft sound of the water crashing against the shore muffling his chuckles at the sight. It wasn’t until he was right there, flushed against the back of Heart, that Dirk noticed him, his voice getting caught in the middle of a sentence and ending up a tiny squeak, hands flying up to cover up his mouth and Kankri couldn’t keep the laugh that erupted from his lips from happening. 

Dirk had grabbed hold of Kankri’s robes and pulled him down and soon they were pulling and pushing, all while Kankri’s laughs grew louder and louder as the red from Dirk’s face burned like kindle fire. 

The two had started arguing—

( _All we do is argue_ , Heart told him, wiping away the honey from his lips. _Don’t you get tired of it?_

 _Are you?_ Kankri had said, tasting the sweetness on his tongue with masked glee.

 _No, not really,_ Dirk had offered a shrug. He took another bite of the bread and said, _It’s not like we hate each other. It’s —a mutual thing, I guess._

Kankri smiled, _Good)._

Their voices had gotten louder and louder and soon it seemed the Gods themselves wanted them to shut up; Dirk had laid down on the sand and let out a huff, placing his arms over his head to shelter himself from the sun. 

Seconds passed before Kankri sat himself down beside him. And, soon, he found his lap being used a pillow for the Prince’s head, and his voice carried as he spoke of English and Egbert, names that sounded foreign to the Seer’s ears, and Kankri had tried to hold his Heart’s hand, unsure of what to do in the matter.

Dirk had slapped him for it.

“You don’t get to do that after scaring the shit out of me.” Dirk’d hissed, scowling, body tensed. But he hadn’t done anything else nor did he prevent Kankri from running his fingers through Dirk’s hair and, instead, leaned into the touch. Empty threats, empty threats. He watched him lay there, baking under the heat from the Sun and they didn’t say much. Kankri combed Dirk’s hair with his claws, watching as his eyes closed and then took full seconds to reopen. His heart had drummed.

“Have you ever thought about your classpect?” Dirk says, breaking the silence.

Kankri blinks down at him, tucks a stray strand of hair back in its place and shakes his head slowly. “Blood is unity and Seers are strategists. What more is there?” And he avoids answering the question but Dirk is patient. Far more than he was six months ago.

“It’s not that simple.” 

“I know.” He _knows_. He can’t forget. He remembers staying up late to try and figure out paths and endings and roads, to feed the unsettling hunger at the pit of his stomach, to keep himself awake just in case something - _anything_ came by and changed the outcomes of his work. Nothing. But one can’t be too careful, and Kankri still waits in silence for the end to come, to take him by surprise and tell him what he wants to know. Kankri’s hand removes the band resting at the top of Dirk’s head, watches as the sunset blinks up at him. Pink and orange and red stare up at him as he combs locks of gold and ties it back, smiling softly as Dirk lifts his head up just enough for him to do it with ease.

“Have you ever met a Prince?” Curiosity and wonder.

“Yes, and he is rather spoiled.” 

Kankri pats Dirk’s cheek and watches him relax, water coming up to his neck and caressing it gently before retreating to the ocean. He presses his lips to Kankri’s palm, words muffled as he says, “That’s not what I meant.” 

Kankri brushes his thumb over Dirk’s lips, a part of him wanting to lean down and taste the bittersweetness of it all-

He holds Dirk’s face, humming. 

“His name was Kurloz,” he starts and tries to ignore the way Dirk looks at him with pity then empathy and then…

  
  


* * *

Meenah was the first to leave. Her face had fallen into a mixture of pain and anger, Cronus and Aranea at her side. Her glasses were crushed under her grasp and she sent them both back, screaming and kicking and shouting to not look at her, watching as the Life within her diminished. 

He remembers seeing her last expression towards the world. She tilted her head back, eyes wide and unblinking, as if she found her calling, and then, she was gone. The land replenished, the oceans returned one by one.

He remembers feeling alone when they all left him - No. No, they didn’t leave him. Cronus didn’t go without saying goodbye and Porrim didn’t want to let go of him as her eyes leaked bitter tears, hands clawing at his red sweater and staining it forever. 

“Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself,” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “Not you, Kankri.”

And when he blinked, she was gone and the stars returned to the night sky.   
  


* * *

Kankri begs for Meulin to come back as he watches Dirk walk away. It isn’t as though he hasn’t moved on, far from it. He’s accepted the fate of the Psiioniic, the Disciple were met with, those paths laid out before Kankri could have even begun to decipher them - and of course he knew he would mourn, cry bitter tears and he knew that he would have to force himself to get accustomed to being alone. And his days were spent making landmarks of the valleys and forest and fields, and he’d finally gotten to play the stupid lute Cronus kept promising to master when he was alive. But when he closes his eyes he doesn’t see pools of red anymore nor are there hands waiting for him, tugging at his robes and arms and legs in hopes of dragging him down -

He sees a sunset and clear waters.

_I think we’ve made a home on the beach. We keep coming back to it. Let it be our home sweet home, fuck it. Not like Eridan or Feferi come here anymore._

He sees sunflowers on open fields.

_These fuckers just keep growing, don’t they? No, don’t get me wrong, I love them but they’re always showing off how far they can go. Makes me feel smaller than I already fucking am._

He sees honey covered biscuits on a hot summer day.

_You lived here for years and you’ve never tried these? Jesus fuck dude, you’re so lucky I was here or else you’d be missing out on nature’s wonderful sweet treat._

He sees pink and orange and gold waiting for him to take the first step. 

_You keep staring at me. No - No, I don’t mind, it's just new. I mean I’d probably do the same but..._

He sees a future in which he cannot be. 

_Just wait. We’ll leave some day and we’ll be without the Seer or Prince bullshit life keeps throwing at us - I promise._

And Kankri can’t help but yearn for Meulin’s gentle hugs as she strips him of his pain, his longing, his _wants_ and leaves him bare of it all. She was always there for him, even when he didn’t voice his problems. Maybe it was due to their past or maybe it was destiny and fate telling them it couldn’t be avoided, no matter how much they tried. 

It’s been years now, more than he can count, but he still hopes for a hand on his shoulder to appear.

But it never happens.   
  


* * *

_All I can ever ask of you_

_Is to stay_

_Just stay_

_-Unknown_

  
  


Dancing is a talent of which Dirk was not gifted with. Queens and kings and nobles have asked for performances from their two Princes, eagerly awaiting the day Dirk rises from the throne and joins his brother on the dance floor, taking the hand of some stranger and letting himself be vulnerable in the open. But it’s never come. He’s always watched from the sidelines as Jade and Eridan took the stage, pulled Nepeta and June up with them in a blur of colors, and danced the entire night away with laughs and grins that brought a subtle warmth within Dirk’s chest. He isn’t sure he can keep up with their happiness, with their freedom, so he’s never tried to follow them. His days were spent with the sword with Dave and at the forge with Equius. There is no reason for him to learn how to pace himself with Eros’s songs.

“I can teach you to wield a sword.” 

“I have no use for a sword,” Kankri replies, taking Dirk’s hand in his. The moon is gorgeous, the valley is quiet, the night is asleep. She sleeps soundly as Dirk tries to contain his emotions within his chest, murmuring excuses and excuses and some more while Kankri looks at him like he means the world to him. He gives Dirk’s hand a firm squeeze and takes a step forward.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes. He’s thankful for the lack of light, feeling his face burn with each passing second as Kankri hums. He doesn’t sing, not really, simply makes due with the lack of violins and piano, as he presses himself flush to Dirk’s own body. His hand finds home to the back of the Prince and picks up Dirk’s left, placing it on his shoulder. And then, with a gentle nudge, they’re off.

Dancing has always seemed like a series of simple steps with nothing more added to them. Queen and king take each other’s hand and do one, two, three, four steps and then repeat them. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. No one’s told him how close he was going to be with his dance partner. He can see the faint, faint scars on Kankri’s cheek, can smell the scent of apples and summer’s rain on his neck, he can feel the small _thump_ of his heart, underneath the layers of red and blood and red. Or maybe someone has told him before, of how intimate it all was, of how with each step it felt as though they were connected, in sync. 

It isn’t perfect, Gods know neither of them are, and there’s one too many times where Dirk’s left gets caught up with Kankri’s right, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because his Seer _laughs_ , sweet and rich like honeycrisp, and he lifts up Dirk’s hand and spins him, hugging him from behind as they sway. Sway. Sway. Swaying always seemed as though it was for drunken loons and never for something so… private.

They part, Kankri bringing Dirk back to face him and smiles down at him again. One step, then two, pushing until they’re making their way across the valley. It starts off hesitant, Dirk counting the steps in his head and then- 

The Prince is a destroyer. A class meant for the almighty, the powerful, a class of which no one wanted with them anymore. A class that took everything it had and destroyed, destroyed, destroyed. And Dirk was no different - even if what he was destroying was the peacefulness of it all, yanking Kankri forward in a rushed step, grin on his face as the Seer tries to gather his footing and then getting pulled again and again and again. There is no rhythm, no rules, only the sound of Dirk’s own laughter mixed in with Kankri’s own. 

It’s a feeling he’s sure to never forget. The coolness of the air, the warmth inside his chest, the way Kankri grins at him like he’s the only one in the world and Dirk makes sure to return it happily. Oh, happy? Was that it?

Kankri takes the lead again, spinning Dirk at the ready and then, with a hand on his back, dips him, laughing sweetly against Dirk’s chest, trying not to cause them to fall down and Dirk laughs, out of breath and sweating-

Happy.

Yea, that sounded right.

  
  
  


* * *

It takes her all evening, until every person in the hall is asleep, to knock on Dirk’s door, who has been anticipating the approach since he arrived back home. The knock is curt, a simple _tap_ to alert her presence and nothing more and Dirk almost smiles at how fitting it is for Rose. He looks up from his hands (still seething with burns and burns and burns) to see Rose push the door open, her eyes finding his figure in the darkness almost immediately - she closes the door with a nudge and goes to sit next to him. Dirk closes his eyes, then his Heart, and opens them to face her.

There’s a book in her hands and her expression is solemn. Melancholic? He can’t find the right word for it but it makes his stomach churn nervously as she opens it in her hands.

“I told you to not get attached,” she murmurs, turning page after page in what seems to be anxiety. No - Nervousness. The kind Dirk has never seen on her before and he frowns.

“You did,” he says. Then adds, “I haven’t gotten attached to anything since you-”

“I wasn’t talking about a _thing_ , Dirk.” Her hands smoothen the pages of the book. It seems to be written in Atlernian, the same symbols and alphabet he’s seen Karkat—

Oh.

“It’s not-”

“Dirk,” she places a hand on his shoulder and it’s cold, cold, cold, “I’m asking a lot from you with this, but could you, for once in your life, please shut up and let me speak?”

He gapes at her, words forming and fumbling, a storm of red and orange he remembers in vivid texts - he closes his mouth, placing his hand over hers and nodding in agreement: _Fine._

She studies him for a second, squinting at his face and then removes her hand from his shoulder and moves closer to him, turning towards the opened book and clearing her throat, as if preparing to deliver a final Sermon.

He listens to her carefully and feels as, little by little, his Heart shatters into pieces.   
  


* * *

  
  


“When were you going to tell me—!?”

“I thought you knew—”

“If I’d _known_ I wouldn’t have spent the last fucking months with you!”

“Then I don’t regret it!” 

“Fuck!” 

He’s sure his eyes are red. There’s bitterness in his voice, spilling out words he’s going to regret in a few seconds, hands creeping up to pull at his hair, screams that become hoarse and distorted to his own ears. Dirk lets his Heart fall to pieces in front of Kankri, not caring if he sees anymore. No longer. 

He can still feel Rose’s words beating within his head, over and over and over again until he can’t take it no more, clenching his teeth and falling to his knees against the temple’s stone floor. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts so much, he wonders if it’s possible to be in so much pain without being stabbed, without having to feel the coolness of a blade against his neck. He wonders if it’s possible to hate himself more than now, in his tired weakened state, spilling his heart out for the one person who would leave him without hesitation.

He sits there for a minute - or maybe five - when he feels Kankri’s hands cup his face, tilting his head up. He blinks his eyes open, feeling the Seer’s fingers brush away the tears still streaming down his face, murmuring sweet nothings to his face, washing away the anger and frustration Dirk feels on the outsider then making his heart twist further and further in on itself from within at how soft he’s being. Delicate.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Dirk feels it tingling on his lips. “I was selfish.”

Silence, a pause. 

A sharp inhale. “Seer?”

Kankri’s voice is breathless. Tired and somber. It makes Dirk’s heart burn so much. “Yes, Prince?”

"Can I be selfish?” 

Dirk can’t see Kankri’s face but he feels him shake as he holds his face in his hands, gentle and caring and, “About what?”

A beat of silence, the sound of lightning striking the ground, then the soft whisper, “You.”

Dirk doesn’t give him the chance to think before he presses their foreheads together, intertwining their hands, staring up at the hollow eyes of the Sufferer’s Descendant. He’s sure that, in another life, those eyes would be full of life, red as the Blood that coursed through his Heart, causing his body to shake and tremble.

He closes his eyes as Kankri breathes out a shaky, “ _Yes_ ,” and gives Dirk’s hand a squeeze.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Calloused fingers find themselves tracing the outline of battle scars, the faint reminder of a war not too long ago, the dip and rise of the cuts within the skin making him wonder if they still hurt, their color still breathing a bright red. There’s stars forever engraved on the descendant’s body, chest rising and falling in weak sighs as fingers trace every scratch and tear above the thin layer of skin. He tries to envision an army — a small one, filled with the same familiar faces he’s grown to care for throughout his life, all disappearing one by one until there was no one left, no blinding Hope nor stolen Light. There was only Blood left, and his breathing comes in slow and calm, even as Dirk’s blade is clutched tightly in his palm, letting the redness pool underneath him on the temple’s floors.

Dirk peels the hood from his shoulders and lays it next to Kankri’s body, meeting his gaze when he rests beside him, hands over his Heart as the trees dance with the wind, carrying their last breaths along with them. And his walls, pristine and ancient, are no longer there — “Does it hurt?” he asks, turning his head to face Kankri, watching as the cuts from his cheek widen and open, letting beads of red drop from within — and he feels as though there is nothing more to hide, feeling his Heart still when Kankri smiles at him. Genuine and true — no more secrets, no more lies. 

“No, it doesn’t.” There’s shock hidden under the Seer’s earnest words, filling Dirk’s ears as the wind dances and spins, cooling his body for the first time in months since embracing the red string that connected the two of them. It feels as though he’s at peace after fighting himself over and over again — he can _breathe_ , taking in a soft inhale as blood fingers touch his hand, taking them and covering them in a redness Dirk has grown fond of. He feels himself smile as Kankri pulls him closer, wrapping an arm around him as if to never let him go — 

“I love you,” he chokes.

There’s no tears nor cries nor screams of pain or torture as Kankri brings Dirk’s hand to his lips, marking them as _his_ one last time, staring at his Prince’s face softly. 

Dirk tilts his head up, pressing their foreheads together gently, taking in a shaky breath, feeling tired and tired and tired, his eyes growing more and more heavy with every intake, and he can feel his body slowly letting go of his Heart, the Blood within him seeming to slip out with every passing second — he doesn’t care. There’s warmth in his chest and the only person that matters right now is with him, holding him tight and making him feel _whole_ —

“Vantas?” His voice feels like a distant memory. It quiets and quiets.

“Strider?” Has he ever sounded this tired? This close to death? Has he ever sounded so _beautiful_? 

“Can I kiss you?” he whimpers and Kankri’s sigh warms his lips—

“Gods, _yes._ ”

His lips taste like honey, sweet and tender on his tongue, and he smiles, listening to the waves of the ocean crash against the shore, taking them along with it, leaving nothing behind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Her current is pulling you closer  
> And charging the hot, humid night  
> The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool  
> Better stay out of sight  
> I'm weak my love, and I am wanting
> 
> \- Her Sweet Kiss


End file.
